PET PEEVE

My three-year-old son had been pestering me for a pet for long. Each time he began his tantrums, I would try and distract him and take him away on a fanciful journey by telling him a fictional story. 

Today was different.

“Mamma, why can’t I have a pet too? Rohan has a dog, Sahil has a cat and Rita has a new puppy. I also want a pet. If you don’t get me a pet, I will not drink milk any more.”

“Yash, now don’t act difficult. You know, we don’t keep pets because there’s no-one at home to take care of them. You go to school, papa goes to office and mamma goes to work too. Who will take care of your pet in our absence? Now, come on. You are an intelligent boy. Don’t make a nuisance of yourself.” 

“No…no…no. I won’t give up. I want a PET, I want A PET, I WANT A PET.” And, Yash started crying and fell asleep sobbing.

“Raj, it has become very difficult to make Yash understand. His demands for a pet are increasing day by day. Let’s get him a pet that won’t require much looking after.”

“We’ve already thought about it many times, Jaya. Dogs and cats need people around them. Our parents don’t live with us and so we cannot have pets at home. What is the use of having a sad dog at home who is more of a burden on you than being an instrument of bringing some cheer in your life?”

“Listen, I’ve been thinking about it for the past few days. Let’s get him a parrot. He’ll be happy and the parrot won’t long for company as dogs do.”

“Wow! A brilliant idea! Such a simple solution! Tell him that this Friday we’ll gift him a pet. Keep it a secret that he is getting a parrot as his pet.”

Friday evening Raj brought home a bright-eyed, baby parrot in a beautiful silver-painted cage. It was an active creature and turned round and round in its cage looking all around itself as if inspecting its new surroundings. Yash was ecstatic. He let out a loud cry of joy and immediately christened it Mitthoo. 

 

Mitthoo became the centre of attraction for the next few days. Yash wanted Mitthoo beside him when he ate food, in the bathroom when he bathed and next to his bed at night when he slept. His holiday homework was full of pictures of Mitthoo. He made hundreds of calls to his friends to tell them about his pet. He even invited them over to see his new pet. He forgot his computer games and was full of tales of Mitthoo. 

“Mamma, you know Mitthoo hid his head under his wing…Mamma, Mitthoo is pecking at his feathers…Mamma, Mitthoo is sleepy… Mamma, Mitthoo took a piece of bread from my hand… Mamma, Mitthoo has learnt to say his own name … Mamma, Mitthoo …” The stories were never-ending. I wondered if he even dreamt of Mitthoo.

Three days after Mitthoo was brought into the house, Yash wanted to take it out of the cage and stroke it with his fingers. I got very angry with the boy. I think it was not so much anger as fear which made me lunge at him. I feared that if the bird tried to fly outside the cage then it might be its last flight. I heard the wings of the fan make a whirring noise. It sounded strange. One ‘wings’ could take flight into the open sky while the other ‘wings’ had the power to take away the very life of that winged creature.   

I have never allowed Yash to take the bird out of the cage. Today, I wish I had allowed the bird to take wings. The next day, Mitthoo looked dull and inactive. He refused to eat anything. I thought to myself that I would personally go to the pet-vendor and ask him the reason for Mitthoo’s lethargy. After work, I headed straight to him. On the way, I got a call…a phone call. It was from Yash.

“Mamma, there are red ants crawling all over Mitthoo’s neck. They will bite him. Please come fast and do something.” There was an alarm in his voice that I had never heard before. I rushed home. There was a cacophony of a pair of parrots sitting on the window sill. Poor Mitthoo looked at them with dull, listless eyes as if pleading with them to release him from the prison.

I knew Mitthoo’s end was near. I felt guilty for having given in to my son’s adamant insistence. I was to be blamed for having bought a few days of happiness for my child at the cost of some other creature’s agony. Had I become so insensitive and selfish that I could not see beyond our petty pleasures? 

I took Yash inside, switched the TV on and put on his favourite cartoon channel. Yash was lost in the world of cartoons. I definitely didn’t want him to see the poor bird when it breathed its last. Yet, it all seemed wrong…and I couldn’t exactly place my finger on what was wrong. The din from the pair of birds grew louder. 

I shed silent tears and breathed a prayer making sure that Yash did not see me crying. The cacophony was unbearable, made louder by the pangs of guilt that I suffered. I shut my ears with my palm pressing hard on them. The birds now pecked at the ruthless bars of the cage. I saw a vulture hovering over the verandah where Mitthoo’s cage had been kept. A sudden chill gripped my heart. Amidst that clamour, I sensed a peculiar silence. The silence of death.

Next day I made up a story for Yash that mamma and papa of Mitthoo had come and taken him away.